


Taking Everything

by millenniumrobin



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Anguish, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millenniumrobin/pseuds/millenniumrobin
Summary: When Haly’s Circus is attacked not once, but twice, Dick sees it as a message to him personally. And it is. A voice and a man that has haunted his nightmares out of prison and looking for revenge. The choice, it seems, is clear: take action or let the man who has taken so much take even more.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: BatFam Winter Gift Exchange 2020





	Taking Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuroraKant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/gifts).



> Name: AuroraKant  
> Fav character: Dick Grayson  
> Three Favorite relationships (romo and non-romo marked) Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd (or / - I like both), and... Dick Grayson & Stephanie Brown  
> What are three things you love to see? (Think tropes or moods) Whump, Angst, Being Pushed Too Far  
> Any important nopes? Nothing new or exciting, but no A/B/O no matter if it is Gen or not - I am fine with anything else

The beep from his phone and coffee maker came almost simultaneously. Dick Grayson slowly blinked his eyes, squinting them against the morning sun peeking through the skyscrapers across the river. He’d always enjoyed the view of Gotham from his Bludhaven apartment. From here it looked so perfect, so serene, a jewel twinkling in the night that hid her seedy secrets from prying eyes. He knew that underbelly all too well from his years of swinging across her rooftops and fighting in her alleyways. From a childhood lived moving from city to city week by week, the farthest he’d moved in the past decade was across the river.

Another insistent beep from his coffee machine threatened to pull away his thoughts, but Dick merely rose from his chair and walked to the window. The frame let out a small crackle of complaint as he leaned heavily against it, rubbing the sleep of a few fitful hours from his eyes. Bruises from last night’s patrol were already blooming, and Dick was contemplating the ice bath he would be taking following that initial cup of coffee.

A familiar glint across the river caught his eye, the sun reflecting off a worn-out piece of metal. The remains of an old Ferris wheel, the most prominent landmark of the old Gotham City Wharf. The site of disrepair after so many years of neglect, and the site where his life changed forever. Even though he couldn’t see it, Dick knew that near that old Ferris wheel was an empty patch of land where a large tent had stood a decade ago, the site of his last performance with Haly’s Circus. The place where his parents, his family, his future had died.

A third alert from his coffee maker whined in his ears, but Dick ignored it, pulling out his phone to see what the earlier message had been. An alert for a news story on Haly’s Circus. The headline mentioned something about a bombing. He glanced quickly back across the river. The rising sun had overtaken the buildings, washing away the scene at the Wharf. Dick pressed his thumb down on the article, eyes widening as the last vestiges of sleep fell away without the help of the cooling cup of caffeine.

***

“It looks like the bombing took place after the circus’ last show, down near Philadelphia,” Barbara Gordon’s voice was accompanied by the steady staccato of keys as she typed. The computer in the Batcave flashed still images and video footage from the scene as Dick stood nearby, arms crossed and back rigid. Barbara wasn’t here, she was safely ensconced in the Clocktower, but her presence was all but physical. “Police haven’t released a motive yet, but it doesn’t look like anyone was killed.”

“Two injured,” Dick said, almost detached. The news reports had said so. He wasn’t seeing anything new right now and it was driving him crazy. This was an attack on his former family, and he needed to find out why it happened and who was behind it. “They blew up the train car that hauls the elephants. The timing though, none of them were on board.” Dick bit his lip as he scanned the images. None of it made sense. Who would want to blow up a train car from a travelling circus?

“That’s odd…” Barbara’s voice cut through his ruminations. The images on screen froze on something Dick vaguely recognized. Then it clicked in his mind.

“Did they blow up the acrobats’ travelling car as well?” The picture on the Bat-computer showed another train car, this one charred from the outside. Flames had eaten away the paint adorning the side with the Haly’s Circus logo, but Dick could still just make out the outlines of aerialists flying through the air.

“Fire, from the looks of it. Happened at the stop before Philadelphia, last week…” Barbara’s voice trailed off. “How do you know that’s the acrobats’ travelling car?”

“Am I wrong?” Dick’s voice was clipped, suspicion hardening into realization in his mind.

“No, just…”

“That car was my home.” Dick didn’t elaborate further, and knew he didn’t need to with her. That had been the train car he had shared with his family, the last place he had gone before leaving Haly’s Circus forever. Where he’d gathered his father’s coat, his parents’ wedding rings – unreasonably small reminders of the love and life his parents had showered upon him over the first nine years of his life. “Barbara, I need you to check the prisoner status of Tony Zucco for me.”

“Dick, are you sure? You asked me not…”

“Just do it. Call me when you have something.” Dick ended the transmission from his end, watching the screens fade to black. Years ago, Babs had told him that she was checking in on the status of the man who had killed his parents periodically, tracking any movements around the state prison system, who was visiting him, if he was still involved in criminal acts from behind bars, stuff like that. Dick had told her to stop, in no uncertain terms. He wanted to move on from that chapter of his life; he would always honor and remember his parents, but he wasn’t going to live worried about what would happen with Tony Zucco. And the gangster wasn’t supposed to be released for another fifteen to forty years.

Now he knew where he was going, what he had to do, regardless if Barbara found what he suspected or not. This attack was personal. Going after the circus, sure, he noticed that. But _what_ was attacked was just as important as the _how_. The acrobats’ riding car. The elephant hauler. This felt like it was meant to grab attention, _his_ attention in particular. Hopping back on his motorcycle, Dick tried to clear his thoughts as he raced back to Bludhaven. But his mind kept wandering back to that night when he was nine, when he’d overheard Tony Zucco threatening Jack Haly, when he’d seen men he didn’t recognize near the ropes, when he’d watched his parents fall to their deaths.

Zucco had sent goons after him, but Bruce and Commissioner Gordon had protected him, and the GCPD had found overwhelming evidence without Dick having to testify. It was later, after he had been brought into Bruce’s care, that he had learned the truth about how Zucco was sent to prison for decades; that it was the Batman who had found the evidence to put him away, and that the caped crusader and Bruce Wayne were one in the same, the man he’d told everything to and had taken him in.

He hadn’t even gotten back to his apartment by the time his headset beeped. “Dick…” The tone of her voice told him everything. She didn’t need to finish.

“He’s out, isn’t he?”

“Made a deal and got an under-the-radar pardon from the governor a few months ago. I’m currently trying to see if there’s any record of transactions to the governor’s accounts, but…”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to Philadelphia. I’m going to find him. And he’s not getting off so easy this time.” Without waiting for her to answer, Dick ended the call and gunned the engine. He knew he was being reckless, but at the moment he didn’t care. The man who killed his parents was free and taunting him. Publicly. By hurting the people he could reach, and Dick knew they would be in danger until he confronted Zucco himself.

Back at his apartment, Dick threw he would need into a duffel bag. His suit into a spare compartment, a domino mask within easy reach, escrima sticks, spare cash, and some forgeries he’d had made over the years: CSI credentials, media credentials, the sort of thing that would let him near or into most crime scenes. A camera to complete either cover story was also added. But as he turned to leave, he saw his open closet door and something stopped him dead in his tracks. Hanging up was a beat-up old leather jacket. His father’s. Their rings sat in a dish on his nightstand, safe beside him every night. And the realization dawned on him. Tony Zucco wasn’t calling out Nightwing. He was calling out Dick Grayson. Batman’s partner showing up would only cause more questions than answers.

He quickly discarded his domino mask and suit from the duffel bag. From his dresser, Dick grabbed a black shirt that cleverly hid light Kevlar plating throughout. A gunshot would still cause a lot of pain, but the shirt could change a killing shot into a wounding one. Pulling out a length of cord and snapping it between his teeth, Dick strung his parents’ wedding rings around his neck, tucking them securely underneath his shirt. Carrying his now-considerably lighter bag, Dick marched for the door. The last thing he grabbed was his father’s leather jacket. The door slammed behind him; the ensuing silence broken only by the lonely beep of his coffee maker.

***

In some ways, Dick was relieved to see that the circus was still intact when he got to Philadelphia. Though there had been no other reports of violence, the tightness in his chest had not released until he saw the jauntily painted railcars and that iconic red and white striped tent. His forgery of a CSI’s badge, along with camera and sunglasses, had been enough for the police officer manning the perimeter, though the officer did say he would check with command later about why they were sending another CSI to the scene when the FBI had already taken over. Dick had merely shrugged and mentioned something about orders, but knew he had to work quickly.

Even though he knew it wasn’t possible, he felt like his parents’ rings were digging further into his chest as he walked among the grounds. Familiar smells, sights, and sounds assaulted his senses. Both the joy of being a carefree child and the pain of losing his parents in one horrific act washed over him like a tsunami. Wetness tugged at the corners of his eyes, and Dick was grateful that his sunglasses hid that emotion from the outside world.

The elephant car still sat where the explosion had occurred. It was no longer smoldering, but that almost made it worse. At least the rising tendrils of smoke from before had indicated the scene was somewhat alive. Now it only seemed dead. He approached cautiously, raising his camera to take mock pictures, eyes darting behind his sunglasses for any clue. Where the bomb had detonated was obvious; directly under the center of the car, designed to cause the most damage. But the timing was a warning, a call out. Dick felt like he was being watched as he moved through the scene.

As he acted like he was taking more pictures, a heavy weight pressed itself along Dick’s shoulders. He tensed, expecting a demand to know who he was at any moment. But the weight only slid down his back and began to wrap around his waist. Dick turned, weight shifting to a fighting stance before he saw a large grey mass and a set of familiar eyes. Recognition bloomed within him, a wellspring of happiness not felt in the past decade. He allowed the camera to fall against his chest, hands reaching out to trace over leathery skin.

“Sitka?” Dick’s voice was almost a breathless whisper, but the elephant’s eyes narrowed, then widened, her trunk lifting him by the waist. A laugh, a genuine laugh, burst from Dick’s lips as he embraced his childhood friend. Some of his earliest memories involved playing with Sitka, balancing on her back or being cradled in her trunk. The last time he had seen her was out the back window of a police car as he was taken to Gotham PD. “I’ve missed you girl.”

A low rumble of response came from the elephant. Dick rubbed his hands gleefully over the sides of her trunk. But he could feel the questioning eyes around him. He knew his cover was in serious jeopardy, either from the members of the circus of a police officer who wondered why an elephant was being so chummy with a CSI. Carefully extracting himself from Sitka’s embrace, Dick placed his forehead against her. “I’ll come back soon, I promise. But I can’t stay now.” He stepped back from his friend, tears threatening to break from his eyes once more. There was part of him that wanted nothing more than to disappear back into this life of relative anonymity, to leave Nightwing behind, to follow in his parents’ footsteps. But Zucco was still out there, Gotham and Bludhaven needed him, and Dick knew he was no longer the same person he was the night his parents were murdered in front of him.

He faked taking a few more pictures before making a beeline for the edge of the opposite perimeter. It wouldn’t do for an officer to be asking questions as to why a CSI was leaving so soon after arriving. As he stepped underneath the bright yellow “Police Line” tape strung across the scene, he heard a rough voice calling out with a thick Italian accent after him.

“Grayson. Hey! Dick Grayson!” Dick froze. Running wouldn’t do much right now, there were too many people about. He would have to talk himself out of this mess. Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the speaker. The man approached him, something held in one hand with an evil smile adorning a face that looked like it had been on the wrong end of a bar fight more than a few times. Stopping just a few paces away, the stranger chuckled as he gave Dick a very obvious once-over. He then lowered his voice so only Dick could hear.

“Tony Zucco sends his regards.” He tossed the object he had been holding in his hand toward Dick, who caught it gamely. It was a cell phone, and no sooner was it in his grasp than it started ringing. The number was listed as “Unknown,” but Dick pressed the button to answer the call anyway. He would have bet every penny Bruce had socked away who was on the other end.

“Zucco?” And he would have been right.

“Dick fucking Grayson.” The venom coming through the phone should have shocked Dick, but he kept his face neutral in front of the goon standing before him. “You have something I want.”

“And that is?” Dick injected as much steel into his voice as he could, but felt it falter. The last time he had heard Tony Zucco’s voice in person the mobster had threatened Jack Haly, telling him he would be sorry for not paying protection money. Dick’s parents were dead just hours later.

“The last ten years of my life back. And I’m gonna take it out of your playboy ass, chunk by chunk, until I finish the job I started on your family.” Bile rose quickly in his throat, and Dick fought to keep it down. He took a deep breath before responding, thankful once again that his sunglasses were able to hide any emotion that his eyes betrayed.

“I want you to stop these attacks on the circus.”

“You want? You want, you pampered billionaire’s ward fuckface? You’re not in any position to be making demands about what the fuck you want.” There was a pause and Dick could hear a slow inhale and exhale of what he assumed was cigar smoke on the other end of the line. “But I am not an unreasonable man. I will make sure no further attacks happen… if you come to the address my associate will give you. Alone. And we settle this, once and for all.”

Dick didn’t hesitate. “Done. Just leave them alone.” A low, almost manic chuckle came from the other end of the line.

“Guess you can’t take the circus freak out of the circus after all. See you soon, pretty boy.” The line went dead as Dick looked to the goon, whose own phone buzzed insistently. He checked, evil smile growing as he handed Dick a piece of paper.

“That’s the address, Grayson. Better not keep the boss man waiting.” He nodded beck toward the circus. “You don’t want to know what he has planned for their next stop.” Dick’s hands involuntarily clenched into fists, but he forced himself to relax them. Punching out this goon would do no good here and now. But he made a mental note of the man’s features. He would get what was coming to him later.

As the goon stepped away, Dick took one last look at his former home. Sitka had taken a few steps in his direction, and he even caught a glimpse of old Jack Haly moving among his performers, trying to keep things as normal as possible before the show that night. Dick smiled softly. As much as he longed to be here, he had changed too much. There was no question in his mind they would welcome him back with open arms, as Sitka had, but he could not stay. He raised a hand to wave goodbye to his childhood friend, before darting into the crowd.

He had an appointment to keep.

***

Post-prison life was treating Tony Zucco pretty well. The address Dick had been given led him to a private-ish mansion, only about an hour outside of Gotham. And it was crawling with guards, many with similar-looking features to the man Dick had met at the circus. The first two guarding the perimeter had gone down without much of a struggle. But getting _into_ the house and to Zucco without being captured was going to be a challenge.

A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder and Dick shifted his weight down, dropping under the grip to sweep his leg out at his attacker. But the larger man gamely leapt over the attack, a large hand gripping the front of his father’s leather jacket as Dick was hauled upright. He grabbed the offending wrist and twisted, but his opponent shifted his weight to maintain control. A cocked fist connected hard with his stomach, forcing the wind out of him as Dick dropped to his knees coughing. The fist that had dropped him opened to cover his mouth tightly, stifling a cough. As Dick looked up, he found himself staring into the face of his younger brother, Jason Todd.

“Keep your damn mouth shut. Jesus, Dick,” Jason’s voice was a harsh whisper. The hand slowly released as Dick began to get his breathing under control. “I managed to get the jump on you and put you on the ground in what, five seconds? You really are distracted.”

Dick ignored the biting comment as his chest heaved, still trying to catch his breath. “How did you find me,” he finally managed to whisper out. He knew he had left his phone at the circus, destroyed. He didn’t want to risk his circus family by having a member or two of the bat family coming along.

“You think your phone is the only way to track your ass?” Jason scoffed as he slid down the wall next to Dick. “Your bike is lojacked, dude. And it wasn’t hard for Barbie to figure out where Zucco was staying once she knew he was out of prison.” He looked over at Dick and sighed. “You didn’t think we’d be letting you do this alone, did you?”

Dick ignored him, angry that he’d let his guard down, angry that one family thought he needed help, angry that another family had already gotten hurt, angry that he actually _did_ need the help. Finally, he relented. “No masks. No guns.” Jason began to scoff, but he gripped his brother’s bicep hard. “No guns, Jay. Nightwing and Red Hood can’t be showing up to a party that only Dick Grayson was invited to. We do this my way, or I’m going in alone.”

It took a minute, but the younger man nodded in agreement. Jason began depositing more firearms than any one person should logically be carrying on the ground, and made sure his helmet and domino mask were well-hidden as well. To anyone who saw them, they’d just be two guys in beat up leather jackets.

To say that Dick had a plan at this point would be a stretch. He had an idea, and not a particularly good one at that. It was something he knew Jason would hate, and he would absolutely not go along with it if he knew about it in advance. But it was the quickest way to get from where he was to where he wanted to be, and Dick was tired of fucking around. Zucco had gone after him personally, and he was ready to make him pay.

Standing from behind the wall, Dick strode towards the front door, Jason in tow. A goon tensed when he saw them walking up, hand dropping inside his coat to reach for the gun concealed there. He visibly relaxed when Dick pulled his hands from his pockets to show he was unarmed and his eyes widened with recognition as light from the doorway bathed Dick’s face.

“Dick Grayson,” he said, accent melting over the syllables. His eyes shifted to Jason, tailing behind. “You were told to come alone.”

“I’m here, which is what your boss wanted. Either take us to him, or you can tell him you turned Dick Grayson away because he showed up with his bodyguard.” It didn’t take much for Dick to push venom into his voice. He saw the guard tense, hesitating for a moment, before raising a walkie-talkie to his lips. A moment later, the door opened, and four armed men stood ready to escort Dick and Jason.

It was a lavish estate by most standards, but having grown up in Wayne Manor, Dick was easily able to pick out the signs of decay. A threadbare curtain here. Brass painted to look like gold there. A forged painting. Dust and cobwebs accumulating in the corners of the ceiling. Zucco’s vanity was obvious to Dick’s eyes, and a man this obsessed with his vanity could have it used against him.

Their armed phalanx stopped outside a room in the back of the house. To an untrained eye, it looked to be a regular door, most likely leading to a study or something similar. But Dick noticed the protrusion of the disguised keypad near the doorframe, and the door itself was recessed a few centimeters from the wall surrounding it. He smiled to himself; a safe room. Even now, with two unarmed men surrounded by a group of gun-toting guards, Tony Zucco was scared. The boogeyman of the Batman had haunted him for the past decade. Fear was something else Dick knew he could use.

Without hesitating, a guard popped open the keypad and punched in a combination, in clear view of both Dick and Jason. A quick glance at the younger man let Dick know that he’d seen it too. The door popped open with a hiss of compressed air before sliding to the side. Two goons pushed Dick forward, while two others remained in the hallway with Jason.

“Didn’t I specifically tell you to come alone, circus freak?” The familiar voice sent a blast of ice directly down Dick’s spine. It was a voice he had heard quite often in his nightmares. “Or did all that soft living with Bruce Wayne rot your brain as well?”

The source of the voice was a high-backed chair, which slowly turned. Sitting behind a heavy desk was Tony Zucco; older, thinner, hair definitely whiter, but Tony Zucco all the same. The facial scar, the sneer of his lip, the malevolent glow in his eye hadn’t been dampened by a decade behind bars.

“Zucco,” Dick said, fighting with all his might to keep his voice from shaking. “You actually thought Bruce Wayne would allow his ward to go and visit a mob boss without a bodyguard? Prison must have addled your brain more than I thought.” Dick watched Zucco’s face sour before his hand moved under the desk. His stomach muscles tightened inadvertently, preparing to feel the gunshot before he heard it.

Instead, the door behind him hissed again, closing with another pop of machinery, cutting him off from Jason outside. Zucco began to laugh, cold and low. “Aw, little grounded bird, do I frighten you?”

“And why would I be frightened of an old man living in a broken down house surrounded by armed guards because he jumps at shadows?” Zucco stood quickly, and Dick knew he had hit on all points. A vein in the gangster’s neck bulged as he advanced quickly.

“You think you can talk that way to me just because you’ve lived in the lap of luxury for the past decade? You think you’re better than I am because of luck, of circumstance?” Zucco motioned to one of the guards, who produced a knife. Dick’s eyes widened slightly at the blade, his weight shifting almost imperceptibly. “You don’t deserve to live, Grayson. You should be buried in the ground, like your worthless parents.”

Dick felt heat flash across his neck and his hands clenched into fists. His vision flooded with the last time he saw his parents; screaming, arms outstretched, reaching for him. This time it was Zucco who knew his barbs had struck home. “What’s the matter, circus brat? Did I say something to upset you? Did I remind you of your parents falling helplessly to the ground? The sound their bodies made when their bodies hit the center ring?” Zucco continued advancing closer, blade held before him. “Did I remind you that you are an utter disappointment? That instead of carrying on your parents’ legacy, you chose instead a life of easy luxury?”

With the last word, Zucco slashed at Dick. Even though he was ready for the attack, Dick was still too slow to respond. The knife cut deep into his arm, slicing through leather, cloth, and skin. A yelp escaped Dick’s lips before a meaty fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him to the floor. He tried to push himself up onto his knees, but his arm wouldn’t support his weight. A boot slammed into his back, one of the guards he guessed, and pain flared from his kidneys. He looked up at Zucco just in time to see another fist plummet down, and stars exploded before his eyes. Ears ringing, Dick shook his head and spit on the floor, blood spewing from his lips.

“You took ten years of my life away from me, you piece of circus trash. My empire in shambles. And all for what? Two nobodies. Two circus freaks who didn’t matter. It’s time I finished what I started and send you back to your whore mother’s waiting arms.” Zucco raised the knife above his head, but Dick shot a leg out, connecting with the inside of the mobster’s knee. The knife clattered to the ground as Zucco howled, clutching his leg as he fell to the floor. Dick pushed himself gingerly to his feet with one hand, trying to put some distance between him and the guards. He was vaguely aware of muffled gunshots coming from the other side of the safe room doorway, but ignored those for the moment.

One of the guards was already raising his gun, taking aim at Dick’s chest. Reaching behind him, Dick found purchase on Zucco’s desk, fingers closing on a letter opener atop it. Whipping his arm forward, Dick threw the letter opener at the goon. With a howl, he dropped his gun, clutching at his bloodied hand. The other guard, who had been tending to Zucco, rushed Dick from the side, tackling him to the ground. Rolling onto his back, Dick brought his arms up to protect himself, a decision he instantly regretted when the henchman brought a fist down against his bleeding shoulder. The impact brought a wave of pain, and Dick fought against the blackness creeping in at the corners of his vision. He bucked his hips, tossing the goon off of him, and grabbing the gun his compatriot had dropped before. Swinging as hard as he could, Dick felt the satisfying crack of the gun against the man’s skull. The goon dropped like dead weight. He turned to the other guard and gave him the same treatment, leaving him alone in the room with Zucco.

Calmly, and with a cold, calculating cruelness, Dick checked the gun. Fully loaded, one in the chamber. He advanced on Zucco, the old man trying desperately to crawl back towards his desk on his ruined leg. But he wouldn’t get there in time.

Dick grabbed the back of his expensive suit, flinging him into the center of the room. Zucco’s leg landed beneath him at an angle it shouldn’t have been able to bend and he shrieked. Walking forward slowly, he raised the gun. “What the fuck did you say about my mother?” A vicious snarl curled his lip, index finger tracing over the cold metal of the gun. “What the fuck makes you think that scum like you is even worthy of speaking about her?” His finger brushed over the trigger. The curved metal caressed him. So cold. So inviting. So easy.

The door to the safe room opened and Dick pointed the gun at the open doorway. But instead of guards, it was Jason who entered, holding a gun of his own. A pair of plaintive moans followed him from the hallways. “Forgot the passcode,” he said with a shrug, before his eyes widened at the gun in Dick’s hand, and Zucco laying before him.

“Dick… let’s think about this…” But the gun was already pointed back at Zucco. Dick’s hand was steady in spite of the pain that was radiating through his body and the haziness that lingered on the edges of his vision. “Dick!”

“He took everything from me, Jason. My family. My future.” Dick looked up at his brother before looking back down at the mobster before him. “Surely you, of all people, can understand what I’m about to do.”

“I can… and that’s why you’re not going to do it.” Jason stepped forward with surprising quickness, placing himself between Dick and Zucco. “Because you’re not me, Dick. You’re better than me.”

“You don’t know shit about who I am.” That forced a scoffing laugh from Jason, but his eyes remained cold as steel.

“I’m not going to let you do this, Dick. I’m not going to let you kill him.”

“Why not? He deserves it.” Dick paused, eyes searching for Jason’s. “He took everything from me!” The emotion in his voice caused it to crack, his words lingering in the empty room. Jason didn’t move, but instead allowed a sad smile to crease his face.

“I know he did. And that’s why I’m not going to let him take everything away from you twice.”

The words shattered something inside of him. Some reservoir of anger and pain just broke, and his emotions came flooding out. The gun dropped to the ground, where Jason kicked it away, and Dick collapsed against his brother’s chest. Jason supported his weight with a wry smile and turned slightly as he heard sirens in the distance.

“Come on. Cavalry’s here. Time to get gone before they arrive.”

***

The insistent beep from his coffee maker pulled Dick back to consciousness from a fitful sleep. It wasn’t quite yet dawn. With an audible groan that would have startled the dead, he moved to rise from his couch. Every part of him ached like it was on fire, and his eyelids struggled against gravity. However slowly, he walked gingerly to his kitchen to grab the mug. It was the coffee he had prepared yesterday morning. He began to drink the day-old liquid without complaint.

There was a heavy knock on Dick’s front door. Moving cautiously, he checked the peep hole before opening it. Jason stood on the other side, two fresh coffees in styrofoam containers clutched in his hands. “You look like the dead,” he remarked dryly before placing one of the drinks in Dick’s free hand and walking inside.

Dick shut the door and followed him, trying to, but not succeeding in, stifling a groan as he sat down heavily on the couch again. Jason offered his own grimace as he observed his older brother. Dick realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He also realized he hadn’t looked in a mirror yet, and that was probably for the best. He didn’t need to know what mosaic his bruising was painting across his skin just yet.

“Have you slept,” he asked, Jason’s bark of laughter as good an answer as any. Dick set the fresh coffee down on a small table in front of him, continuing to cradle the mug.

“Been getting info. You’ll be happy to know that Zucco is facing federal charges in relation to the bombing. Crossing state lines and terrorism and all that. It’ll be a lot harder for him to bribe a pardon this time.” Dick nodded as he took another sip of the room-temperature liquid.

“And everyone else?” The question sounded innocent enough, but Dick’s tone was such that Jason knew he didn’t mean the goons they’d left bloodied in their wake.

“Barbara and Bruce know you’ll be out a couple of days. I didn’t give them the full story, but they’re smart enough to figure it out.” Dick didn’t answer, he just stared out his apartment window in the pre-dawn darkness. Jason took another drink from his coffee, letting the silence continue for a few seconds before speaking again.

“That was really stupid, Dick. And that’s coming from me.” This time it was Dick’s turn to laugh, and he immediately regretted that he’d done so. But when he looked at his brother’s face, he could tell that this was no laughing matter. Jason looked genuinely worried about him.

Dick sighed. “I know.”

“I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying.” Jason moved to sit on the table across from him, which let out a creak under his weight. “That. Was. Fucking. Dumb. You could have been killed. Should have been, frankly. And now all you’ve got is an amateur patch job because you refuse to see a doctor. I’m going to say something, Dick, and I want you to hear me when I say it.” Dick kept his eyes low but Jason continued.

“You don’t need to feel guilty about surviving. And you don’t need to go off and get yourself killed to repay some imaginary debt you don’t owe. Your parents wouldn’t want that. Barbara wouldn’t want that. Bruce wouldn’t want that.” Jason paused, looking down. “I don’t want that.”

“Don’t make my mistakes. We need you, Dick. All of you.” Jason let the words hang in the air for a minute before standing up. “Take a few days, get your head on straight, and get some sleep. We all know it’ll only be a little while before we have to do the whole saving the city thing all over again.” He walked to the door and opened it. Dick turned just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye.

“Jay?” The larger man paused at the door.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For being there last night, for saving my ass, and for patching me up. And for talking to me. That’s another one I owe you.”

“I’ll add it to the ledger,” Jason said with a smirk before stepping out the door and closing it behind him. A glint of light off metal caught Dick’s eye as he turned back. The rising sun had just caught his parents’ rings, still bound together on the cord, set on the table in front of him. Dick smiled at the sight of them, burying himself back down into the couch next to his father’s leather jacket, content for now to watch the sunrise over Gotham Wharf once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Sincere apologies for the lateness... but happy holidays and happy new year and all that jazz.


End file.
